Not alone
by AnimaQueen
Summary: Samara Singh was just a pretty laid back girl from South Africa until she ends up in 1960 with a mutation to control as well. Add a little memory loss to the equation, you have a very confused, snarky 21st century girl. Samara Singh Portrayed by Deepika Padukone
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own X-men**

 **Starts at X-men first class**

 **Summary:** **Samara Singh was just a pretty laid back girl from South Africa until she ends up in 1960 with a mutation to control as well. Add a little memory loss to the equation, you have a very confused, snarky 21st century girl.**

 **Samara Singh Portrayed by Deepika Padukone**

 **Chapter: 1**

Samara Singh sighed rubbing her head. Feeling the heat of the run on her face she wondered if she left the curtains opened. Feeling for a blanket she found her hand touching the muddy earth... what?

Snapping her eyes opened she was briefly blinded. She looked around to note she was outside. Green grass neat and trimmed- like something around the rich parts of town. A huge willow tree over hanged near her. It was familiar for some reason... She felt a sudden sharp pain and flashes of this tree and a little girl climbing it with a few friends.

"Urgh!" She groaned crouching to the floor in agony.

The wind picked up and a few stray leaves hit my face. The wisps' and sounds off the ruffling leaves filled her ears and she bowed her face down protecting it from the rough treatment of the leaves and trying to massage her head for the upcoming migraine.

Suddenly she felt an absence of wind. As if someone was standing in front of her. She opened her eyes to see her vision tinted with an orange color. An orange color that looked like something you'd see from a sunset. A shield? Who put that there? Where did that come from? More importantly where the hell was she? Swiftly looking around noting it was a deserted park and judging by the sun it was probably early morning. The shield broke to pieces as she directed her attention elsewhere.

Did she do that?...

...

She tried to feel for her cell phone her pockets but noted she was wearing a green skirt and a white frilly top. Huh? This was her favorite outfit that she strictly decided to use only on special occasions. Regretfully she never had the chance to wear with living with strict religious Indian parents and existing in a small town where everyone knows everyone. She always felt confined in that place.

She knew every inch of her town so she wondered why she didn't recognize where she was. Were her parents looking for her? Most likely they were angry and she cringed at the thought of hearing her mother's yelling.

She began to dust the back of her skirt and walk into town only to find it rather old fashioned. She noted a news paper stand with an old man giving her the stink eye. She ignored him and read the front page. "War veterans Charity event- Feb 4th 1960," she mumbled out loud. Eyes widening she took another look of the surroundings. The air was cold and there was a few people dressed in waist coats, jerseys and ties. She noted mostly men out and about.

Did she go back in time? She felt her heart beat accelerating, her hands becoming sweaty and her vision becoming hazy. She looked around and felt out of place. Terrified. She decided to make her way back to the park with hasty walking feeling her skirt flair out as she walked.

"That's a beautiful skirt!" a woman exclaimed as she walked right in front of her. She could feel heat running to her face. The accent was British. Was she in Britain?

"Thank you," she say slowly her voice slightly hoarse, Samara tucks a stray black lock of hair behind her ear. The woman seemed oblivious. A blonde house wife it woman looked like a girl out of a Grease movie. Was Greece 1960 movie. She didn't even remember.

"Is this a traditional wear of India?" she asked curiously. She was thoughtful and she felt the lie roll on tongue.

"No, I made it," she stated. Back home she was studying to be a designer and she could make it. If she worked her words properly maybe she can sell the skirt for money. She looked like she really wanted the skirt too.

"Really! It's amazing- the cut is done so well," she praised. She looked at me with a sincere smile. "Can I buy one from you?" she asked.

"I- um... I came here for a job but it seems I was tricked. I'm homeless I can't-" she stopped chocking out a fake sob.

"What? You were tricked? Oh my!? Come with me. I'm making you breakfast and we can talk," the woman said pulling me along.

 **Change of POV: Samara POV**

'Thank you mother for forcing speech and drama classes on me,' I inwardly sighed.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Mara Singh," I told her. I didn't like the name Samara which her father had dubbed her.

"I'm Isabelle Gilbert- Don't worry- I think I can help you out," she assured me with a warm smile.

It was at that moment I found an irreplaceable friend and that was Isabelle Gilbert. Later it would only be that unbreakable bond that we formed over the next two years for me that I become most grateful to her and to think that's it's foundation was based on a lie that will forever plague me. It is said that we keep things from the people close to us because we love them but for me it was the selfish need to protect myself.

A cunning nature erupted that day and it was when my white lies began to flourish and a deep seeded resented for myself formed for then I believed I was forever alone with only words of lies that connected me with the world I found myself in.

 **Hi readers! What do you think?**


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own X-men**

 **Summary:** **Samara Singh was just a pretty laid back girl from South Africa until she ends up in 1960 with a mutation to control as well. Add a little memory loss to the equation, you have a very confused, snarky 21st century girl.**

 **Samara Singh Portrayed by Deepika Padukone**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Samara POV**

I lay in bed starring at the ceiling. I wondered if I was in a dream but it felt to real to be so. In my hand I played with an orange box that surrounded a white flower I had found. I made the box. Not with paper or glue but rather with the strange powers I decided to experiment with. The feeling of the shield was warm and likened to a protective casing They were flashy and garnered attention like nobody's business. The bright orange reminded her about the sun set.. It made her nostalgic whenever she looked or saw the color orange. It also made her feel a dull ache in heart. She wondered if it had anything to do with her missing memories.

Isabelle Gilbert seem to come out right from a story book. I wondered if the people in the past were too trusting or was it just her who held that naive quality.

 **Flashback:**

"Tea?" asked Isabelle holding a ceramic antique cup of tea. I nodded. Tea was my life blood. I drank especially to calm my nerves. I took a sip and was instantly with a minty lemony taste.

"Good?" she inquired. I nodded putting the cup down, my mind turning with a good lie. I couldn't tell her I was from the 20th century. I would be put in rehab and in this time shock therapy was a thing. "I love experimenting with different drinks and food," she smiled serenely. We didn't continue to speak and sat in comfortable silence.

"Thank you, tea always calms me," I stated putting the cup down. A dull ache was felt at the thought of her mother who made tea for her quiet frequently.

"I'm glad," she shuffled to pick up the cup. "I have a spare room. I hope you won't mind staying in the attic though," she told me. I looked at her flabbergasted.

"Um! but we haven't really spoke about my situation," I pointed out. Is this woman crazy? Did I just walk into a crazy lady's house? I knew it was too good to be true.

"You don't seem like you want to talk about it. That's something I understand," she said looking down looking solemnly as if thinking about something of the past. "I saw you at the news stand. You were looking so lost so I had to go after you," she told me.

"Why? You don't know me," I said, blinking owlishly at her.

"When I see someone in trouble my legs and mouth move without permission- it's a condition of the bleeding heart," she smiled.

 **End of flashback**

It's been two week and 6 days and 11hours since I found myself in the 1960s. I had fooled myself it was a dream by the third day only for it to be dashed by the forth. Isabelle or Belle- I'm told to call her and I have been slowly getting accustomed to each other as if we were newlyweds. She bought me clothes and a sewing station where I started instantly repairing clothes and making up modern but modest styles exclusive to Belle- sort of like a personal stylist. In that note I had to custom the bras for myself personally. I didn't understand the appeal of them looking like the end of ice cream cones. Belle was mesmerized by the styles and lace and frills I made and had me make some for her. While I contemplated on the combining the modern and past styles will do to the future Belle poked her head from the crack of the door.

"So, I was thinking have you ever gone to a horse race?" she asked.

I looked at Belle eyebrow raised. Was this her ploy to get her outside? I had expressed my utter disdain of leaving the confines of the house. Whenever I left the house I always garnered strange looks from people. 'You're exotic,' Belle would say. 'Like a some hookers,' I had replied. Only to receive an exaggerated eye roll. I didn't like the idea of being physically profiled by everyone in England.

"If I said 'No' do I have to leave the this comfy bed because I'd most likely not want to go," I stated cuddling into my blanket and discreetly removing the shield around the flower. I lifted my fingers to my chin and eyed the blond woman skip to the bed and plant her ass down like she owned the place... wait, she did. Isabelle Gilbert's family was killed during the war. Her father was a soldier and her mother a nurse. Yeah Hitler existed at some point here. I didn't want to comment on it.

"Mara, I met a man," she decided to say next which made me raise an eyebrow at her.

"Yes and?" I asked. A look of disappointment pass through her briefly. For some reason liking some guy and dating was as big as getting married to the guy.

"I want you meet him! Come on it will be fun! You can experience your first trip to the local pub," she chirped cheerfully. I was going to make a snappy comeback about her constant cheerfulness but I stopped looking at her expression. Belle has been nothing but helpful to me and since I got here I've reverted to my old high school antsy, cynical self.

I let out a suffering sigh and forced a smile. "Do you think we should wear a sun hat," I said looking at the window.

His name was Dean Harris... He looked like freaking Paul Walker. It took a lot of self control not the drool on the spot. He also has smarts! He goes to Oxford and studying mechanical engineering. I bit my lip as I noted how taken Belle was with him. He was charming, funny and hot. Why wouldn't she? It made me silently ache for a chocolate boy of my own. I eyed the other single blonde lady at Dean's arm.

"So this is my sister Amy," he introduced conversationally to the girl with blue and green heterochromia eyes. I stared at them amazed. They looked beautiful.

"So how did you and Isabelle come to be friends?" asked conversationally as we watched Isabelle and Dean being all giddy over each other.

I eyed the woman next to me by the corner of my eye while I took a sip of my lemon water. "I guess I was in trouble and she helped me. Belle is weird like that," I said conversationally. The girl was a spastic as a broken umbrella in torrential rain. I looked back at the ever so cheerful couple holding hands and whispering to one another. "Dean seems like a nice guy," I said.

"Dean and her are a lot alike," she stated looking at them with distaste.

"What's wrong with that?" I questioned sharply feeling strangely protective to my spastic blonde haired provider.

"Nothing... It's just- I feel it shouldn't be this easy. My mother adores Isabelle already and my father is already planning on his will to include his future grandchildren," she stated. "I just don't want someone who challenges me, muscles, exotic, exciting and maybe travel," she continued thoughtfully.

"Already know what you want?" I quirked feeling a sense of understanding. I loved Belle but seemed so flawless. She fitted perfectly in society. Being a kind and slightly airheaded. When I look of Amy- I see someone trying to find herself, very similar to someone like myself.

"Dark hair, tall, broad... hmm my own Mr. Darcy- if you please," she said dreamily. "Don't we all have preferences?" she asked. reminding me of my old superficial high school friend.

I shrugged my shoulders. Honestly I didn't know what I wanted. I always had the hots for smart guys. My last and only relationship was the poster in my room of the Dark Knight... I swooned at Elijah from vampire diaries in a suit- did that mean I liked my men gift wrapped?- wait- that sounds wrong... I was in a girl's school so she didn't have much experience with men.

"So exciting? Like something of the bat of Shakespeare?" I quipped almost condescending at the his most recent works of Shakespeare.

"A tragedy love story where the two characters kill themselves," she quipped back rolling her eyes in a fashion I had yet to witness in this time zone.

"Amy Harris, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," I declared.

This was the day I made a friend that hated the perception that Romeo and Juliet was the greatest love story of all time. A worse cynic than myself.

 **Better?**

 **The next chapter will start up the movie verse.**


End file.
